The GNR Transcripts
by Knightfall1138
Summary: Select transcripts from Three Dog's "Galaxy News Radio Show," as seen in THE WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE by Moira Brown.
1. A Helping Hand

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"The GNR Transcripts"

*As seen in _The Wasteland Survival Guide_ by Moira Brown (Page 423)

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**Entry: #1**

Good morning, children of the wastes! This is Three Dog—your lord and master of this wasteland disaster. The voice. The image. The pride of…ah, you get the idea.

Maybe you can't tell me directly, but I'm just gonna come out and say it: How are you doing? How are _you_ doing? When's the last time someone's asked you that? When someone just wanted to know how you were keeping on? I'll tell ya, it's been a long goddamn time over in this camp. The Brotherhood is a collective of righteous guys and gals, but let's be honest, they'll never get an A Plus in sympathy from this Dog.

No offense, my steely-eyed compadres.

Maybe I got a bit of a…_unique_ situation going on here, but it's none too hard for good ol' Three Dog to pick up on what's going on. We're a society that should act as one, but we're, instead, acting like a bunch of jive loons—if you catch my drift.

We've got wars fueled by hatred and greed, and crimes inspired by desperation. Everyone's embraced the well-known philosophies of _I want_ and _I need_.

_Wake up_, children! Look around. Each other is all we have. The moment those bombs fell, we all became a little bit closer than family. Do families stab each other in the back? No. Do families sell each other into slavery? Hell, no! But that's what's going on, and that's what we have to take care of.

We gotta get rid of all this hate and all this greed, or we'll end up drowning in it like those poor bastards over in Paradise Falls. Help your fellow man. Help him good and plenty, and he'll help you in return. We all have to offer a shoulder to lean on, so that when we need one ourselves, it'll be there waiting for us.

Take note, boys and girls: when fighting the Good Fight, you don't always gotta use your fists. Those fists are but a simple stretch away from being a helping hand, and it don't take much at all.

_/end transcript_


	2. Talon Company

**[Entry: #2**]

Seems that Canterbury Commons has been reporting fewer and fewer trade caravans making it back their way. What could be the cause of it? Hell if I know, but I can sure guess my ass off, anyway. Gotta fill up airtime somehow, right? Ha ha.

I'm sure you've all heard of Talon Company's recent resurgence out west of Big Town. And if you haven't heard it…well…all you really gotta do is take a step outside and listen. They're back, baby—and bigger than ever. Sure, we had all thought we'd heard the last of them after their commander's legendary spill into a deathclaw nest, but it seems you can't keep a diseased dog down.

They're taking no prisoners this time, folks. They're out for blood, and they don't care how they get it. Over here at GNR, we've heard stories of entire families being dragged out of their homes. Children ripped from their parents and sold over at Paradise Falls for a quick buck. These walking, talking animals don't care what god you pray to or how much you plead—if you got something they want, you can bet that they're gonna take it.

Now, now, listen here, children. All is not lost. As far as I'm concerned, these Talon Company scumbags are just another element to be aware of, like anything else we're exposed to. Here in Post-Apocalyptia, you know we gotta keep it real at all times of the day. Yao-guai, mole rats and deathclaws—oh my! Almost everything around us has been tailor-made to fuck us up royally. So do what you always do: find a good place to sleep at night, make sure all the doors are locked tight, and pray that Talon ain't lookin' for a fight. And if they are, you'll know what to do.

Anything but surrender—that's what.

Thanks for listening, children. Until next time, this is Three Dog! Keep it tuned in, right here, to Galaxy News Radio.

Here's some music, coming right at ya!

_static_

_Hey, everybody did the news get around_

_About a guy named Butcher Pete?_

_Oh, Pete just flew into this town_

_And he's chompin' up all the women's meat!_

_He's hackin' and whackin' and smackin'._

_He's hackin' and whackin' and smackin'._

_He's—_

_/end transcript_


	3. A Mechanic Antagonized

**[Entry: #3]**

Up! Up! Up! Rise and shine and wipe the nuclear dust from your eyes! It's the break of dawn, and you know what that means…_morning announcements!_ Doesn't mean very much over here, seeing how if you listen in often, you'd know that I don't punch out until someone physically punches _me_ out. We can thank our brothers in steel for that courtesy—haha!

Let's see here, what've we got on today's agenda…duh duh duh…aha! You're never gonna believe this, children, and I'm not asking you to. From where I'm sitting, this sounds about as cracked as cracked can get, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. Because we don't keep secrets in this family, kiddies.

Hasn't been very long at all since we last heard from Canterbury Commons, but here we are again! Apparently, some robo-mechanic over there just lost himself a damn fine robot. Now, of course, this is nothing new. Those pre-war gadgets always tend to disappoint in terms of lifespan, but that's not what's weird about this particular "mechanical failure."

Rumor has it—and I can't stress that enough—that this mechanic's robot was destroyed, torn limb from limb, by…giant ants. Yeah, those terrible pests that you find in the dust fields picking away at the dead crops. They decided that they've developed a taste for expensive robotics, which drove our mechanic all kinds of crazy.

But! Hold on to your seats, children, because it gets stranger from here. Obviously, the giant ass ants that we know all too well would never just attack at random, since they're one of the few things in Post-Apocalyptia that we can actually predict and avoid. No, the only reason they would ever attack anything that wasn't near their hive is if they were provoked. And provoked they were…by a slim little number wearing nothing but lipstick and a uniform modeled after the ants she led.

How is this possible? I can hear you asking that from here, but rest assured that these are only _rumors_. No confirmation on whether or not a spandex-wearing psychobitch leading an army of ants in tow is actually, factually true. We'll all just have to accept that something happened to put this report on my desk, leave it at that, and have us a splendid morning.

Treat yourself to a sunrise, on me. But try not to catch the sunset—we all know what goes bump in the night.


	4. Tales from the Underworld

**[Entry: #4]**

Good evening, one and all! I'm back with you, spiritually _and_ physically. In case you live under a rock—no offense to my rock-dwelling brothers out there—you might have heard that I went on a bit of an excursion for a few days. The Brotherhood of Steel decided to make a quick patrol of the Mall. Lyons herself wanted to make sure her fellow soldiers out there at the Washington Monument were in good health.

Let me tell you: these legs of mine weren't made for walking. That's right, I must admit that I was cryin' and kickin' and screamin' all the way up to the front door of the Monument. And I assure you, I looked as pathetic as it sounds.

But damn those guys and gals of the Brotherhood never once raised their voice at me. I was sure they were gonna leave me to die somewhere out there! Ha! I was sure I was gonna wake up in a yao guai burrow with my hands tied to my feet, buffet style. But that ain't the way it happened, and for that, I am most grateful.

But not for these throbbing feet of mine…

So what did I learn on our little excursion? Well! It marked the first time I was able to make my way over to the world famous Underworld. That's right, the capital of ghoulkind. I wasn't sure what to expect when I walked up to that front gate, but damn those fellas can make a man feel welcome if you show a little common courtesy.

I got the grand tour of the place. It's a very charming locale and the people were all very hospitable. Apparently, I have a few GNR fans over there. I walked away with an embroidered leather jacket and a stomach full of the best food I've had in awhile—I don't want to know what I ate, but it was fantastic nonetheless.

That just goes to show, a little kindness can go a long way—and in my case, it happened to make a three day journey ahead of me. Now, those ghouls over at Underworld are a nice bunch, but I'm hesitant to say that everyone should make their way over there to make pleasantries. The tension between ghoul and human is still very rough around the edges. I heard stories of ghoul families making it to Underworld with only half of them present, since settlers out there in the Wasteland think it's funny as all hell to take shots at ghoul convoys.

I'm telling you all right now, if you're one of these assholes shooting at unarmed ghouls, thinking you're some kind of hero, you can just stop that right now. You're already going to hell for what you've done. You can at least try to _act_ like you still have a soul. And if any of your names drop by my desk, you can just forget about the Brotherhood coming to help you if you're ever in need. _Forget it_.

All right, children! Thanks for listening and have a pleasant night. I'm off to rest these calves of mine. Love and peace! Love and peace, haha!

_/end transcript_


	5. Some Things Never Change

**[Entry #5]**

_Threeeeeee-Dog!_ Haha! The coffee's cold and the squirrels are roasting, so it must be morning! Do me a favor and turn that volume dial just a little bit higher. Don't kill your battery, though. If you do, who the hell am I gonna talk to all day? And trust me, you'll want to be hearing this loud and clear.

Now, I've got a big ol' stack of news reports here that I'd just _love_ to tell you all about. A squabble between Megaton and Tenpenny Tower. A renegade cyborg. A cave run by children and a place, somewhere out there, with lots of trees...

But fuck all that, you know? We've got bigger mirelurks to fry. No, no, no, no, no—the big story here on my desk, the story that forsakes all others, concerns a certain... _vault_. Yeah, now I've got your attention, huh? Anything about the pre-war vaults gets shot right to the top of the pile here. Why? Well, because, even though I do a lot of the talking in this relationship, I know when to listen. You love the vaults, so vaults are what we're gonna talk about.

This is just in from Megaton that a mysterious stranger stumbled into town looking worse for the wear. Caused quite the stir in the community, mostly on account of the blue jumpsuit the stranger was wearing. A jumpsuit typical of the vault-dwellers. A jumpsuit with the numbers "101" embroidered across the back of it. Nifty, indeed.

You know the drill, kiddos, on rumors and happenstance and blah, blah, blah. But what if this _is_ true? What if one-oh-one is listening to this broadcast right now? Now that would be something wouldn't it? Imagine living in one of those fancy vaults all your life only to be greeted by deathclaws and radroaches. Not the best welcoming committee. But here, one-oh-one, lemme give it a try.

_Ahem._ Welcome to the Wasteland, my vault-dwelling brother or sister! If we had known you'd be coming our way, we would've cleaned the place up a little. Sure, we've almost got as much dust as the Mojave and the Mall ain't much to look at these days, what with the crazed supermutants and all. But you know what? The Capital Wasteland is home—and it's been our home for a good long time.

It wasn't easy, but honest folks with honest hearts made something of this place. It's got character, history, and an acceptable good-to-jackass ratio. I know it must seem strange and, _oooooooo_, scary as all hell compared to where you're from, but give it time. That's all it takes. Crack open an ice-cold Nuka Cola, put your feet up, and watch that sunset. You'll see. The Capital Wasteland is a place worth sticking with.

So, good luck to you, one-oh-one, and if you don't mind me saying so: I've got a good feeling about you.

I think you're in for one helluva ride!

And hey, if you ever find yourself wandering, keep that radio tuned in to yours truly. But for now, this is Radio Free Wasteland signing off...

_*static*_

_...to begin again..._

_*static*_

_/end transcript_


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